It took me a couple of weeks after the breakup to notice how on edge I felt in my own apartment. Every time someone walked past my door or a delivery truck idled nearby, I paused to listen. Not because I thought anything bad would happen, but because I couldn’t stop wondering if it might be him.

We’d broken up cleanly, or at least as cleanly as you can when someone still has a key and a possibly reason to come by. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t shown up unannounced. But the idea that he could lingered, and it started to wear on me.

The moment that snapped it into focus came when my dishwasher started leaking and I called maintenance. When the guy came by to fix it, I stayed out of the way, scrolling on the couch. As he was wrapping up, he asked if I needed anything else while he had his tools out. I sort of half-joked, “Not unless you change locks, too.” He raised an eyebrow, then said, “Actually, we do. We’ve got extra deadbolts in the truck if you ever need one swapped.”

That was it. I paused, then asked if he could do it. He didn’t ask questions, just said, “Five minutes.” I stood by the kitchen while he worked, heart racing a little; not out of fear, but of powerful relief, as though I’d been holding my breath since he left. I hadn’t realized how on edge I’d been until that moment, like I’d been sleeping with one eye open. Not out of fear, but out of that weird limbo feeling—like the front door was still cracked open to the past.

The apartment didn’t feel haunted, exactly, but it didn’t feel settled either. And changing the lock wasn’t a grand act of closure, just a quiet little reset. I didn’t text my ex. There wasn’t anything to explain.

It’s strange how something that small can make such a difference. The apartment didn’t look any different, but it finally felt like I wasn’t waiting for someone to walk in. I could light a candle, take a nap, watch TV without checking the hallway every time the floor creaked.

The lock didn’t change my life. But it made the space feel like mine again. And in a season full of things that go bump in the night, that tiny sense of safety was enough.